The town illuminated with Christmas decorations. Light chains of warm colors connected the trees and light poles above our heads. Snowflake-shaped lightings hung from each of the light poles. As we drove through, I could almost hear music. Actual Christmas music, not the spooky one they played at Briarcliff. Despite the absence of the sun, the downtown looked so lively. If it hadn't been in the middle of the night, there might've been some people walking around, too, all bundled up and excited for the holidays. There was a tall Christmas tree right in front of the courthouse. It stood with grandeur,as if it knew how proud it made its people. And, as if I had never seen it before, the magnificence of it left me in awe.

We drove more. I looked at the houses in the neighborhood, with their decorations on their rooftops and front porches. There were people in them, fast asleep, oblivious to my sentimentality. And I saw one house, in this bright neighborhood, that had no decorations at all. Wendy parked the car in the driveway of the house.

I twisted my waist in the seat. "Mary Eunice, we are here."

Mary rubbed her eyes, and stretched once. I helped her out of the car, and into the house. I wanted to welcome Mary with open arms, giving her a tour to make her feel at home. But instead, as we crossed the threshold, I could only stand there with her, as if I was another guest. Everything in the house gave off uneasy unfamiliarity. My feet refused to take the first step. In the distinctive smell of the house, I smelled whiskey. Mary's shoulder brushed against mine, then. Her hand sought mine, asking to be held. And I saw the misgivings in her pleading eyes, the anxiety about the genuine unfamiliarity she felt, in the house she had never been in. It was enough for me. I could be courageous for her, just like this.

"Come on," I said. "I'll show you the bedroom."

As we walked through the hallway, she kept looking around. Her stare flew from one thing to another, as though anything could hurt her. She had never looked so small.

I entered the room and put her bag on the bed. "This is the guest room. The bathroom is down the hall. Our bedroom is right on the other side of this wall." I put my hand flat against the wall that touched the headboard of the bed. "If you need anything, that's where you could find me."

She nodded, and looked about.

"It's a little dusty in here, isn't it?" I said. I opened the window. "I'll go get a heater for you, and more blankets."

And at last, she opened her mouth. "No, it's alright. This is so much better than what I had at—" She looked down, feeling the bedsheets. "Thank you. You have a lovely house."

But despite her smile, she looked sad.

"Have some rest," I said. "Or, are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want to take a bath?"

She shook her head at all of my questions. "I just—" A faint sigh escaped her lips, and her hand rose to rub her eye. "I just need to sleep. I'm very tired."

"Okay. We'll talk tomorrow."

I bade her goodnight, and left the room.

Then finally, I settled down in the bedroom of Wendy and me. For the first time that night, I closed my eyes without any fear. The well-cushioned mattress swallowed my whole body as I lay down. And in that moment, I think, it sank in that I had escaped the imprisonment of Briarcliff. No more bedbugs, none of the smell of filth, no screams, no shivering in the cold. This was a quiet neighborhood in a medium-sized town, and this house was mine. I was at home.

Wendy insisted on feeding me. She bathed me, helped me change into my nightgown, wrapped me up in blankets, combed my hair, put lotion on my arid skin. Everything I merely glanced at, she brought it in front of me. Her care was pure devotion. After weeks of neglect, the vigor of it made me feel like a royalty or a saint. And I would have made a joke or two about it, if it wasn't for her incessant sobs that only exacerbated by the second. Her lips quivered, as she kissed the back of my hand, and the inside of my wrist. I cupped her cheek, and more tears wet my hands.

"There are," she said, "so many things I want to say to you."

"I know. I do, too." I planted a kiss on her fluttering eyelid. "But not tonight, baby. It's been a long night for everyone."

She nodded, and took some more moments to calm down.

I patted for her to lie with me. "Come be the big spoon."

"You let me be the big spoon?"

"Only tonight."

She crawled under the blankets, wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her nose into the back of my neck. I melted in the warmth. Her grip tightened more, as though having two separate bodies pained her. But it was too tight, and her hip bones dug into my rear end. I hissed and wiggled away.

She made a little space between us. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"It's not you. I— I just have some nasty wounds in the ass," I said. And I was thankful, when she didn't ask further questions.

Instead, she pressed her lips to my neck, once, and moved to my shoulder. The heat of her breath caressed my skin. I felt it tremble. I think I did, too. She made me roll over, and climbed on top of me. Her fingers flirted with the hem of my gown for a moment, and when her hand touched my stomach, the buzzing heat made me shiver again.

"Baby."

"I just want to touch you," she said in my ear, and left a kiss there. "I need to feel you. I need to know I'm not dreaming."

"Mary Eunice is sleeping in the next room."

Then we just had to keep quiet, she said.

We were no strangers to reckless passion or smoldering touches. But what we had tonight, we had never had it before. I didn't know the name of it, or if it ever had a name. It just sowed something in me, a feeling so heavy, hot, and dense. It made me feel like I was drowning. It felt like flying.

I didn't want to do this in order to climax. Setting such goals felt like the opposite of what I needed in the moment. All I craved was to feel her body, to make sure of my own existence through the heat, through the heaviness of the air, through the sound of her breathing, through her. And I think she understood that, even though I never told her. Her fingers glided across my body, tracing each bone that protruded like rugged mountains. She moved against me, and kissed me, until I couldn't any more.

ooOooOoo

Rationally, I understood that I was in my house. The little ol' house, built in the forties, that Wendy and I had bought together. Still, this sense of restlessness didn't seem to leave with the dawn, and stayed deep under my skin. Everything felt so small. The ceiling was low, the rooms were confined, the walls seemed fragile. I found myself comparing those things with what Briarcliff had. And breathing became harder, once I realized that Briarcliff had a sort of openness. The whole building might have been filthy, but the ceilings were twice as high. And the skylight in the entrance hall, my house didn't have that. How ironic that my own house made me feel so claustrophobic. Briarcliff, without my knowing it, had permeated, touched the quick of me.

I stood by the window in the morning, with a cup of hot coffee in my hands. The clock read past eleven. Kit might be working in the bakery at this moment.—Or, maybe, my escape might be turning the entire institution into chaos, and leaving the daily routines in shambles. Jude might be swinging her canes around in wrath. Sánchez might be stomping his feet, having failed to see me dead. And Arden might be crying over Mary and plotting revenge on me. I hoped none of them would ever take it out on Kit, or his family.

I turned around, and nearly spilled the coffee when I saw Mary Eunice there, sleeping in the couch. The mountain of blankets moved up and down slightly with her quiet breathing. The thickest blanket on the very top had slid off her, and now only covered her legs. In the remaining blankets she had her nose buried. I placed myself on the coffee table before her. Even in her sleep, she had her brows drawn together. The heater in the living room was off.—At whatever point during the night she had moved here, she must have shivered herself to sleep. I picked up the thick blankets off the floor. But when she felt the weight of the cover on her upper body, she jerked awake. She sat up. All the blankets fell on the floor with one bulky thud.

Overnight, a white nightgown had replaced her black habit. The blonde hair that she'd had pinned up now cascaded down around her shoulders. Her bangs were in a mess, going this way and that.

"Why were you sleeping here?" I said.

She rubbed her eyes, looked about, and forced a smile. "I must've mistaken this for my bed after I went to the bathroom last night."

Who goes to the bathroom with a whole set of blankets? But I chose to ignore that. I asked her if she'd had a good sleep, and she lied again with a tired smile.

"Good," I said, "You have to be starving. Let's have breakfast."

I went to the kitchen and put bagels in the toaster. As I prepared plates, Mary stood next to me, watching.

"Is Miss Wendy still in bed?"

"No, she went grocery shopping." I took a sip from my mug. "Do you want coffee?"

I let her pick a mug for herself. She admitted she'd never had coffee before, but still insisted on having it instead of tea. We sat together then, and ate late breakfast. Although my stomach still acted up, it gave me joy to have anything that wasn't the watery mashed potatoes.

Mary seemed content, too. Even with the shadow of fatigue lingering in and around her eyes, they twinkled at her cafe latte and the cheese spread on her bagel. She had never tasted any of these things before, I assumed. And I watched her, as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and had another bite.

"It's strange to see you out of your usual clothes," I said. "And the veil."

"I feel strange, too. Sister Alice is usually the only one to see me like this."

"You're almost unrecognizable."

"Oh."

I poured more coffee into my mug. "Not necessarily a bad thing," I said, and looked at her. "Would it be weird to say I've always wondered how long your hair is?"

She blinked at me.

I shrugged. "Don't know why, but I've imagined it to be shorter."

Her fingers rose to her wavy hair that reached the bottom of her breasts. "It used to be shorter," she said. "Not even touching my shoulders. Shorter than yours."

"It's rather hard to imagine," I said.

"It is, isn't it? I never had it cut at Briarcliff."

How strange it was to talk to her about such a small, insignificant thing, in my house, while having bagels for breakfast. But I felt no awkwardness in it, like this was how we had been living for a long time. The previous night felt like a mere nightmare. And for a second, I thought I could forget about all of it by the time I went to bed tonight.

After my third cup of coffee, Wendy came home. She put paper bags down on the kitchen counter, and came to me. Her hands rose to my cheeks, her gaze on my lips. But she only pulled me in for a hug. Although Mary also greeted her, Wendy didn't so much as to flash a fake smile. I was the only one Wendy saw, and she seemed determined to keep it that way.

"So, what are your plans for today?" she said, as she made herself a cup of coffee.

"Going to the police. And maybe, I'll show Mary Eunice around the town."

"Oh." Wendy threw a glance at Mary. "I was thinking we'd see Barbara and Louise. They came over yesterday, after I came back from Jude's office."

They were two of our best friends, the only lesbians in town besides us. The only people who could support Wendy in my absence.

"You should see your friends," Mary said. She shrugged, dropping her gaze to her almost empty cup. "I can see the town by myself."

"You can't walk around alone," I said. "It's not safe."

So, I promised Wendy to see them after the trip to the police station, and gave Mary an impromptu tour on the way to it. I taught her which places she should stay away from. Sketchy neighborhoods, the record shop that would rip her off, the movie theater also known as a hotbed of varmints. I showed her my favorite places. The bar with a very accepting owner, the Chinese restaurant that served incredible dumplings, and my habitual hair salon, if she wished to have her hair cut and done. It was not the best town on earth, but it had bite-sized pieces of goodness spreading over.

From the driving seat, I saw a three-storied, red-brick building behind a sizable signboard of Cola.

"That's where I work," I said. "If I still got the job, that is."

But, Mary seemed to be more absorbed in the radio. She scowled at it, as she bit her nails off.

At the red light, I called her name. My voice didn't seem to cut through the fog encompassing her. I said her name again, and put my hand on her shoulder. That made her jump in her seat, as though my touch blistered her skin through the clothes. In the eyes that finally registered my presence, the weak sunlight twirled, making them much paler than the dark grey I was accustomed to. In them, I saw the beginning of tears.

"Mary Eunice, do you want to go home?"

She shook her head.

"Mary."

"I'm okay." This was her third lie today.

I wanted to sigh, but kept it in. "Listen, I know Wendy hasn't been . . . how you expected her to be. But, you remember how I saw you in the beginning. And now, look at us." I sought her hand. "Give her some time to adjust, yeah? Everything will work out."

The layer of tears thickened. "Promise?" she said.

"Promise," I said. "Tell you what, why don't we go out tonight, three of us? I'll take you to our favorite restaurant."

She bit her lip, and nodded.

"So, you're okay?" I looked into her face. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

Something crept across her face. But just as quickly, it vanished. I asked the question again. Then, her attention again returned to the radio.

"I'm simply worried that, right at this moment, they might start talking about us," she said.

I looked at the radio. It was then the person behind us honked the horn. Two short honks, and a long one at the end, just in case the first two didn't deliver the message clearly enough. I looked over my shoulder, and saw an old woman swinging her arm around in her car. Her mouth moved, yelling something. The traffic light had changed. I unlocked the parking brake and drove forward.

"Don't worry about that," I said to her.

"But, what if Sister Jude has reported to the police— What if she was waiting for us at the police station?" Her voice changed from dispirited to panic-stricken.

"She won't."

"How would you know?"

"Jude is too proud to rely on outside people," I said. "I escaped under her surveillance. She would want to take care of this out of public view."

Her body became less rigid. But her glow continued to hide under the surface. She looked out the window, just like she'd done last night, seeing something that didn't exist there. I could not ignore the unease deep in my gut.

"So, it's not the police you gotta watch out for." I turned the steering wheel to the right. "It's the faces you know. Arden, Sánchez . . . Someone might be in town already."

"Do you think they would take me back to Briarcliff and send me to Washington?"

"Beats me," I said. "Technically, there was nothing that tied you to that place— We are here."

I went off the busy road, and parked in the parking lot behind the police station. We got out of the car.

"Would you care if they did?" she said, over the roof of the car.

The metal surface reflected the light from the sun. I had to put my hand over my forehead to see her face.

"What?"

"Would you care if they took me away?"

The wind blew, making her long hair wave, and she scrunched her face up. I don't know why, but that sight reminded me of the Golden Retriever my neighbor had when I was a kid. Peggy, that was her name. She and I were best friends. She liked me, probably more than she liked her owner. Every evening, when I had to leave for dinner, she would beg me to stay, putting her chin on my lap, batting her eyelashes at me. Then she would whine, as if I would leave her for good. I remembered the heartache.

"Of course," I said to Mary. "Do you remember what I said to you last night? In the infirmary?"

"You can't do this without me."

I nodded. "I mean that. Now, let's go."

I didn't think much of this, thinking it was another out-of-the-blue question of hers. But had I known the true meaning, hidden behind the words and under the tired smiles, I would've chosen a different path. I know I would've.